My sister’s dance recycle was held this afternoon
The open was a fresh take on the classic “Brigadoon.”
The ballerinas stole Act II updating “Claire de Loon”,
Next came a Modern version of “The Ballad of Rocky Raccoon.”
Throughout it all I snacked on extra crunchy Lorna Doones,
Which the Tap Dance Troop’s clicks covered to a new “Angelina, Zooma-Zoom.”

From where this event got its name,
at first I had no clue:
There were no boogeying bottles or can-canning cans.
But after seeing the old songs
rethunk, reduced, and reused
“Dance Recycle” is now a name I understand.



L’il Sissy is a spoon
always stirrin’ stirrin’ stirrin’,

Li’l Sissy is a kitty
always purrin’ purrin purrin’,

Li’l Sissy makes me giggle
how she coos coos coos,

which makes Mama laugh and say,
“Your Sis reminds me of you.”

I say, “Mama that’s silly,
I’m growin’ growin’ growin,

A big strong brave kid
filled with knowin’ knowin’ knowin’”.

She smiles’n’says “Yes,
but even though that may be true

Mama can still see the
itty bitty kitty spoon in you.”


There’s a Drooling Machine at our house
They call it “The Baby Boy.”
It’s cuddly and cute and I squeeze it
Though Mom insists it’s not a toy.

It runs like a faucet that’s broken
Leaking everywhere all through the day
But when I grab a wrench to fix the Machine
Mom insists, “Put that away!”

She says, “The Boy’s doing exactly
What it should be at this stage!”
I say “Buyer Beware”’s a good lesson
For shoppers of every age

Lest they get stuck with a Drooling Machine
For which they must apologize
With some on-going lie there’s no way they believe, like,
“Isn’t he the cutest little guy?”


One day we were driving
When Sister yelled, “Potty!”
So off-road Dad drove,
Then Sis whispered, “Nah. Sorry.”

One day Sis cried, “Potty!”
So Mom hit the brakes.
At the next gas station,
Sister giggled, “Nope. My mistake.”

Then one day Sis screamed, “Potty!”
This time Mom and Dad both said, no.
Only that time, we soon learned,
Sister really did have to go.


When she brought home
my new kid sister
Mom said,
“Say hello to Carrie.”

I thought that’s what Mom said,
but am I certain?
Well, no.
Not very.

Because Dad calls the kid
“L’il Chicken”
“Queen of Sheba-Geneeba Sleuth.”

While Mom says to her,
“Just look at you,
My Sweet Precious Little

Gramma sings
“Hi Boo-ga-loo,”
while strolling baby
‘round the block.

Grampa asks Dad
for pictures of
“My favorite l’il
Cuckoo Clock.”

I’ve learned:
forgetful silly tongued grownups
can be scary.

Lucky for my sister
I for one
will be sticking with her real name: